Ludwig knew and loved the low, trembling tone in which the last words were spoken. And her eyes, too, shone as in their old youthful days.

With a gentler expression he rejoined, "We'll say no more of that; it really is in your blood. Opposition is useless. Only one question: What did the Donninghausens say to it?"

"They knew nothing about it," replied Johanna. "Sometimes, since my book has been so well received, I have thought it might have pleased them."

Ludwig did not appear to have heard the last part of her reply. "Your writing, then, was not the cause of your break with Otto?" he asked.

"No; Otto did not love me,--he never loved me,--I had proof of that,"

she replied. "Of course I tell this only to you. Grandpapa never would forgive Otto."

"Otto, Otto, always Otto!" thought Ludwig, as he rose. "I must go," he said; but when Johanna took the hand he held out to her, he seemed absolutely unable to leave her. "Come with me to Lindenbad," he begged.

"That would be our best Christmas."

She shook her head. "Scarcely for your sister," she replied. "And what would become of Lisbeth? I cannot leave her alone, and if I could venture to take her such a journey in winter, she would feel strange and lonely at Lindenbad, and would be still less welcome than I to Mathilde, who is not fond of children."

Ludwig took up his hat. "Excuses of all kinds; I yield!" he said, in an irritated tone. "Farewell. _Au revoir!_" And, with one more cordial clasp of her hand, he was gone.

"Write to me!" Johanna begged. But the door closed quickly, and she could not be sure that he had heard the words.

He certainly was in no hurry to fulfil her request. The Holy-tide came and went, bringing her no word from him. Johanna took herself to task for continuing to watch and to hope, and for her inability to rid herself of the memories which seeing him again had aroused within her.

Wherever she was--in church, in the Rupprecht family circle, at her writing-table--Lindenbad and Donninghausen were always present to her.

And at last--Johanna could not avoid an impression that some subtile psychological influence had been at work--she received a sign of life from both places. The longed-for envelope from Lindenbad arrived, enclosing a letter to Ludwig from Johann Leopold, to which the former had only added a few lines. Johann Leopold wrote:

"DoNNINGHAUSEN, December 23, 1876.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--Although it has now been for some years my custom to look to you for aid and counsel, I would spare you my present application if I knew of any one to turn to in your stead. Therefore I trust you will forgive me for alluding to painful subjects, which we have hitherto avoided mentioning to each other.

"I have just seen by the paper that the 'equestrian artist,'

Carlo Batti, has gone with his circus to St. Petersburg for the winter. My cousin Otto recently procured a position there as an officer in the Guards, and a fear lest a meeting between Johanna and himself might give occasion to fresh scandal, and that Johanna's connection with our family might be used anew as an advertis.e.m.e.nt for the circus, leads me to write to you. I do not wish to blame Johanna for what she did in the glow of her first indignation; although I confess I thought hers a n.o.bler nature than it proved itself to be. She should not have entirely forgotten all regard for our family, and especially for her grandfather's personal feeling, and she must not do it a second time. Will you represent this to her, my dear doctor?

You have more influence with the unfortunate girl than I have.

Also pray remind her that Waldemar, Otto's brother, with his young wife, lives in St. Petersburg. I hope that it will need only this reminder to induce Johanna, now that her first anger is past, to spare us. If--which I can scarcely suppose possible--you no longer have any intercourse with Johanna, and do not know her address, it will, I should think, be enough to direct your letter to Batti's circus, St. Petersburg.

"The post is just leaving, wherefore pray accept a hasty farewell for the present from your sincere friend,

"J. L. VON DoNNINGHAUSEN."

With this letter came a few lines from Ludwig, written in evident agitation:

"DEAR JOHANNA,--Little as I am able from the scanty information furnished me by you to understand the contents of the enclosed letter, I gather from it that Herr O. v. D. has explained your separation from him by a tissue of vile falsehoods. You will instantly send me the requisite details, that I may acquaint your relatives with his rascality. Do not imagine that you can prevent me from doing so. I shall find means at any rate to learn the truth. It is bad enough that you, for the sake of a scoundrel, have suppressed it for so long."

This was not the salutation for which Johanna had longed, and yet in these angry lines she found once more the faithful dictatorial friend of her early girlhood, and a sensation of being protected, from which she had long been debarred, took possession of her. He must not, indeed, be allowed to interfere at Donninghausen; but it did her good to know that he was ready to do battle for her with his old fiery zeal.

Thus cheered, she sat down to reply to his note. She could not, however, find words for just what she wished to say, and when she read over her finished letter it seemed to her cold and insufficient; nevertheless, it had to be sent immediately, lest Ludwig should be left to discover the truth after his own fashion.

She wrote: "I thank you from my heart, my dear Ludwig, for your care for me, and for all that you wish to do and would do in my interest, if you were right in your suppositions. But you have misunderstood my expressions, as well as Johann Leopold's letter. Otto is not to blame for the report that I am become a rider in the circus, but Carlo Batti himself, who hoped thus to force me to a career for which he thought I had a talent. Probably the enclosed notice, which was written by a friend of Batti's, has fallen into Johann Leopold's hands. Pray tell him the real state of the case, and that I am not responsible for the false statements of the newspaper. I pray you to forego all further explanations; not that Otto may be spared, but for my grandfather's sake, that he may be saved from fresh mortification and pain. Aunt Thekla, who knows all about it, not only agrees with me in this view of affairs, but desires that I should be silent to my grandfather as to the true reason for my break with Otto. That I concealed it from you also was the result--pray believe this--not of any regard for Otto, but of a certain sense of shame, and of repugnance to discuss the affair. In my own mind I am so entirely separated from Otto that even my memory of him seems something quite apart from myself. I had hoped that you perceived this at our last interview. Since you did not, I am glad of an opportunity to tell you that it is so, for I long to have you understand me thoroughly as in the dear old days. Were you perhaps led astray by some expression of mine of home-sickness for my grandfather or Donninghausen? These are separations the pain of which I never shall overcome. But I know that they are irrevocable, and I pray you also to accept them as such. Write me that you do, and then tell me how you all are, and whether you have concluded to remain in Germany. How glad I shall be if you have!"

The letter was sent. Johanna reckoned up the time that must pa.s.s before the answer to it could arrive. But days went by in anxious expectation, and again she tried, in vain, to direct her thoughts into another channel.

Waking and dreaming, her mind was occupied with Ludwig. "We must study each other anew," she said to herself.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE TRUTH AT LAST.

This year also Hildegard and Hedwig found a pretext for omitting the Christmas visit to Donninghausen. Thus on the afternoon of Christmas day only the old brother and sister, with Johann Leopold, were sitting around the fire in the drawing-room. Conversation halted more and more, for although the thoughts of all three were occupied alike, and all knew that this was so, they shrank from giving utterance to the sensation of loneliness that possessed them. At last nothing was heard save the howling of the wind, the ticking of the clock, and the crash now and then of a burning log, which would send a shower of sparks up the chimney, and be followed by a brighter blaze. And as the flickering flame revealed in strong relief now the erect head of the Freiherr, now Aunt Thekla's delicate, placid face, and now shone in Johann Leopold's dark, melancholy eyes, changing pictures of the past also appeared,--images of youth and joy, delightful tasks, dear, unforgotten forms ascended from the grave, lost happiness, love betrayed, confidence misplaced. Who does not know the phantom train, lengthening from year to year, that glides by us upon life's landmarks? Aunt Thekla gazed after it with tearful eyes, Johann Leopold in proud resignation, and the Freiherr with a desire to bid defiance to the past and to clutch what still seemed to him worth possessing. It was he who at last broke the silence.

"This can't go on so!" he said, rising and pacing the room to and fro, after his usual fashion. "Next year, G.o.d willing, shall see childish faces around our Christmas-tree. The future heir belongs to us. Since Waldemar has just had another boy, he must give us the oldest."

"He never will do that, I am quite sure," Johann Leopold replied. "And if he would, the mother could not be persuaded to consent to it. But I hope they will all come. I have long been wanting to talk of this to you, sir. Waldemar is heartily weary of diplomacy, his wife cannot get used to the climate of St. Petersburg, and for the children it is positive poison. Moreover, there is Otto's position in society. Really, they could not do better than fold their tents and return."

"Apropos, what about Monsieur Otto?" said the Freiherr. "Klausenburg had some incredible tales from a St. Petersburg acquaintance of the brilliant figure the fellow is cutting. Elegant establishment, troops of servants, fine equipages, valuable horses, champagne suppers, immense losses at cards. Where the deuce does he get the money for it all? You promised me not to let him bleed you any further----"

"And I have kept my word," said Johann Leopold. "Moreover, he has made no demands upon me except for what I gave him. He has found some friends--lady friends, I hear----"

"What! There was truth in that scandal, then!" cried the Freiherr, pausing in his walk. "Klausenburg hinted as much, but I cut him short.

How do you know anything about it?"

"Waldemar wrote me. An old princess and the wife of a former brandy-dealer were mentioned. Waldemar is intensely mortified----"

"No need of that," the Freiherr interposed. "We have been long-suffering enough. Now turn the scoundrel out of doors, and----_Basta!_ There are black sheep in every family! Let him go!" An energetic flourish of his hand emphasized his words. The Freiherr walked on silently for a few moments, and then said, "We were talking of Waldemar's possible return. What could we do with him here? It is not his fashion to play the sluggard."

"No need for him to do that," Johann Leopold replied. "You know, sir, they wish to make a county magistrate of me, and my election to the next Reichstag is as good as certain. I do not wish to refuse the nomination, but to fill the position as it should be filled I must resign, in part at least, my duties here. As far as the farming interest is concerned, I know that if you will consent to supply my place there, it could not be in better hands, and I will make over to Waldemar the forests and foundries. With the improvements which I am contemplating they will keep him very busy, and he will be well satisfied. They were always his hobby. There is room in Donninghausen for all of us, and I long, as you do, to watch the growth of the young shoots about the old trunk."

"You're right, my lad!" exclaimed the Freiherr. And, pausing beside his sister, he added, "What do you think, Thekla? Should not you and I grow young and jolly again if we had merry little feet tripping about us? Who knows, if there is the sound of laughter here once more, whether that vagabond Magelone will not come home again? Does it never occur to her that the Walburgs may tire of her in time?"

"Dear Johann, she is going to Hedwig shortly," Aunt Thekla made answer.

"She does not like to be here----"

"Nonsense!" the Freiherr interrupted her. "What would be the consequence if everybody whose hopes were disappointed ran away? This tramping round among the Wildenhayns and Walburgs is positively disreputable. Write that to her; do you hear?"

The servant brought in the lamp. When he had departed, Johann Leopold said, "I have something to tell you of Magelone. An hour ago I received a letter by express. I could not make up my mind to tell you before----"

"Deuce take you, lad! Out with it!" cried the Freiherr. "What is the matter with the child? Is she sick--dead?"

"Nothing of the kind. She has only a.s.serted her right to do as she pleases. She is married----"

"Married!" the brother and sister exclaimed, as with one voice. And the Freiherr added, angrily, "Go on! Why all this humming and hawing?"

"I only know the bare fact. I received a printed announcement," said Johann Leopold. "But with it came a note for you, Aunt Thekla."

Aunt Thekla took her note with a trembling hand.

"Read it aloud!" her brother ordered; but she could not. Eyes and voice refused to obey her.